The Interloper
by Ivory LaPierre
Summary: Veronica Lestrange is the daughter of two famous Death Eaters. Being accepted is difficult enough, especially when you have a secret that could be devastating.DISCLAMER: JKR owns everything in the Potterverse. I own Veronica.
1. Home Sweet Home?

"Veronica. It's…you should wake up, dear."

She opened her eyes and saw the beautiful face of Narcissa Malfoy. After a long summer of nothing to do all day but sit in the house alone while the Malfoys ran their various errands, such as get Draco more new stuff, it was finally the first of September. The familiar feeling of mixed excitement, relief, and fear flooded through Veronica, but her expression did not change.

The day before, Aunt Cissa and Draco had gone to Diagon Alley for the usual school-shopping trip, and they had kindly picked up all of Veronica's required items.

Veronica sat up, more alert now, driven by the prospect of being on a train in the next three hours.

"Yeah, alright, I'm up."

In the middle of the floor was an open trunk, with a shirt, sweater vest and skirt hanging over the back. She had just a few things left to pack.

Narcissa smiled wanly. Veronica knew that look. She was gong to ask to have something done, something Veronica really didn't want to do.

"Could you wake up Draco when you're all dressed, please? I have some things to take care of before we go."

Veronica nodded after a second. Narcissa patted her arm and left without another word. Heaving a sign, Veronica slid out of bed and stood for a moment, gazing at herself in the mirror across from her bed. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes squinted in the morning light that filtered in through the thin drapes. She ran her fingers through her thick, wavy black hair. It was going to be an eventful year, she could feel it.

After brushing her hair into a reasonable temperament and dressing, she made her way to the opposite end of the hall. Draco's door was ajar, and soft snoring landed vexingly on Veronica's ears.

She hated Draco. He was a spoiled, whiny little brat. He was constantly sneering, and only stopped when he was afraid of something. She thought fondly of a time in their third year when he had staggered into the common room with a bloody nose. He had been hit by, as his disgusting little friend Gregory Goyle had put it, "a filthy Mudblood girl." Veronica had asked which Mudblood it had been, and Draco had spat through his blubbering, "Hermione Granger!" Good for her, Veronica had thought.

Now she leaned against the door and chewed her nails for a moment, a habit Aunt Cissa hated. Veronica took a breath, then said, sharply and loudly,

"Draco!"

He started awake, and then his eyes focused on her.

"Wha…oh, it's you."

"Your mum sent me to wake you up, Princess."

Draco mumbled, "Shut up…you can't talk to me like that, I'm…"

"A prefect?" Veronica's eyes darted briefly to the shiny silver and green badge on Draco's bedside table. She was surprised he hadn't been snuggling with it. "Well, that's very special, but we have a train to catch, and the sooner I can be in a compartment far away from you, the better. Up."

And he did get up, though grudgingly. Veronica went back to her room and started putting the final things in her trunk. Her box of jewelry that her mother had owned before going to Azkaban went in first. She took out a silver ring with a deep green jewel set in the center and slipped it on her finger. Next she picked up the Hogsmeade permission slip recently signed by Uncle Lucius and tossed it in on top of everything. The last thing to go in was the picture on the dresser. Set in a simple silver frame with a cursive L on the top, it was a photograph of her parents. She gazed at the two of them smiling and waving at her from behind the glass, before tossing it on top of the rest and latching the trunk's lid.

Veronica had lived with the Malfoys since she was two years old when her mother and father had been sent to Azkaban. For a very long time she though she was Draco's sister, but then she noticed her conspicuous lack of platinum blonde hair. Upon her asking, Draco had been quickly sent out of the room and Veronica had been told by Narcissa and Lucius that she was not actually their daughter, but the daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. They had also told her not to worry, she was pureblood even though not of the exact descent she had thought, as Bellatrix was Aunt Cissa's sister. Being six years old at the time, Veronica didn't really understand why she should be worried about this. However, now, sitting down to a quick breakfast of eggs and bacon, she understood all too well the importance of blood status in her family.

A copy of this morning's Daily Prophet was laid out on the table. The headline read, "Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lies?"

Veronica scoffed. She knew for a fact that Potter wasn't lying when he said that the Dark Lord was back. She had seen her Uncle Lucius's left arm on a few occasions of late, and the skull and snake were darker than ever. She also knew from eavesdropping on her aunt and uncle's intense conversations that the Hufflepuff boy called Cedric Diggory was killed by the Dark Lord himself. There were quite a few tings that she'd learned about the Dark Arts and the people involved, especially her own extended family, after a bit of research. Once Veronica started at Hogwarts, it became clear that her parentage was not in anyway ordinary. Within her first month there she learned of the act that had landed her mother and father in Azkaban, which was torturing a couple called Longbottom to insanity. Veronica didn't know how she felt about having such people as parents.

As for Potter, though. Having gone to school with him for the last four years, Veronica didn't think he seemed like the lying type. Certainly not for the attention, at least. She was supposed to hate him, just like all the other Slytherins and everone with whom her family was associated, but couldn't quite bring herself to feel something as strong as hate for someone with whom she'd barely exchanged ten words. She thought he was cocky and basked in the glory of being in the right place at the right time, but she didn't hate him.

Draco wandered into the dining room and sat down. He eyed Veronica's untouched bacon and eggs.

"Are you going to eat that?"

Veronica shoved the plate at him roughly in response, not making eye contact. He gobbled it up like only an adolescent boy could. He took one look at the Prophet and put on his signature sneer.

"Who does Potter think he is?"

"He's telling the truth, Draco, you know it."

"Yeah, but he's just doing it for the publicity. I know Potter, this is just like him."

Veronica just rolled her eyes. _And it's just like you_, she thought, _to make excuses to insult him, right?_


	2. Return

Looking out of her compartment window and awaiting the train's departure from Platform 93/4, Veronica could more easily analyze her thoughts. She was overjoyed about going to what was the closest place to home she could think of. There was also the customary elation-dread hybrid slowly creeping into the pit of her stomach. Going back meant seeing him again. He was always there in the back of her mind, no matter what else was going on in there. She'd loved him hopelessly since first year.

Now that her mind was on the subject, she sat back in her seat, closed her eyes, and gave in to her own thoughts.

"Going on five bloody years," she murmured to herself, smiling cynically. Just then something hit the glass in her compartment's door. Veronica's eyes snapped open and saw Draco and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggering in the passageway.

"Who're you talking to, nutter?"

Veronica leaned forward and let out a wordless cry of hatred and frustration. The three boys laughed harder and turned to find their own compartment.

After they were gone, Veronica glanced across and saw none other than Harry Potter in the opposite compartment. He was with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger (whom Veronica still respected for bloodying Draco's nose), and someone hidden behind the _Quibbler_. Then Neville Longbottom stepped into Veronica's field of vision. He caught her glance before going inside. She thought he looked terrified, and knew it was because of her. She tried to smile, though she knew it wouldn't make any difference. Longbottom was going to fear and loathe her, as did most people at Hogwarts. But how could she blame them? She was a Lestrange.

Finding this to be an excellent time to change into her robes, Veronica pulled the shades and locked the door. She shrugged into the black mass of cloth, straightening it out over her bony, wide shoulders. She looked down at the silver and green emblem on her chest, and her family motto came to mind: _Toujours Pur_.

In some ways she wished she hadn't been in Slytherin. At least then some people beyond her family and their shady associates would trust her. Being a Slytherin, everyone expected her to be her mother over again. Not having friends was something she was quite accustomed to. Since her first year she had had a train compartment all to herself. She remembered that first trip with another bitter smile.

Veronica had joined a compartment full of other first year girls that day. Everyone had been all smiles and handshakes. All the other girls had been introduced when it came round to her. Veronica smiled widely and said,

"Hello, I'm Veronica Lestrange."

A heavy silence had fallen on the group. A particularly prissy-looking blonde wisp of a girl who had introduced herself as Lavender Brown had finally piped up, "Veronica _what_?!"

"Lestrange…" she'd said, the smile fading from her face as her eyes darted between the horrified expressions.

Without a word, the girls had all simultaneously risen and exited the compartment, leaving Veronica alone. After that no one really ever approached her.

Now, on the same train, an older and much more jaded Veronica pulled the shades open again and watched it rain.

The storm raged overhead in the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall. The high aches and dark wood were an incredibly welcoming sight, but once entering the Hall, Veronica kept her eyes firmly fixed on the heels of Pansy Parkinson, who was walking in front of her. She was determined not to look higher than knee level of anyone around. This was a yearly routine that always failed by the end of the night, designed to delay the shock of seeing him again. She knew, though, that she'd eventually have to endure the familiar jolt of every emotion at once, which actually caused her pain. It was worse every year.

She found her way to the Slytherin table and sat at the back end. She allowed herself a quick glance up to see who she was sitting next to. It was Pansy again. Unfortunately, Veronica was also across from Draco, at whom Pansy was blinking rapidly.

The Sorting was long that year, and the Sorting Hat's song detailed and a little foreboding. All the way through, as first-years filled the empty places at the table, Veronica willed herself not to look up from her plate.

"What's wrong with you, Lestrange?" said a low voice she recognized as Blaise Zabini's. She was surprised he had asked.

"Nothing, Zabini, I find this table quite fascinating. Please pay attention to the Headmaster and don't worry about me."

Zabini then addressed Draco. "What's her problem?"

"I dunno, Blaise, but whatever's up her ass has been there for fifteen years," he snickered.

"Don't be mean, Draco!" said Pansy, then turning, "Are you okay, Veronica?"

This had never happened before. Normally everyone just left her alone to her silence. Zabini had messed it up this time, and if she looked up now, people were going to ask questions. She clenched her teeth and whispered,

"Pansy, _please_ just leave me alone," her voice cracked on the last word, and tears began running down her face. They were tears of frustration and fear, because she was just sure someone would find out.

And then the worst happened. Pansy said, "God, are you _crying_?" seized Veronica's shoulder and turned her to face front.

"N—" Veronica began, but was stifled because her eyes passed over Pansy's face and straight behind her. She shuddered and gasped as her gaze fell upon the black-clad shape at the end of the staff table. All thoughts of possibly cursing Pansy, Draco, and Blaise vanished because he was all there was. Impossible now to look elsewhere, she simply allowed the waves of agony to crash within her as she looked upon the figure of Severus Snape.


	3. Nothing to Worry About

"Honestly, Lestrange, what was that all about back at the feast?" said Millicent Bulstrode, lazily kicking her trunk under her four-poster bed, "You looked like you'd swallowed an angry doxy."

Veronica lay flat on her back, her left arm covering her eyes. She had spent the remainder of the feast staring intensely at the table in front of her, and had practically sprinted out of the door and straight down to the Slytherin dormitories when it was over. Millicent and Pansy had found her here and she was trying as hard as possible to avoid their questions.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Millicent, it really is nothing," Veronica said impatiently.

"Rubbish, it's nothing!" came Pansy's voice. "Draco says--"

"Bollocks to whatever Draco has to say!"

"--says you've been acting funny all day. Talking to yourself and all that."

"I'm…" Veronica struggled for a lie that would suffice, "nervous about…OWLs this year."

Millicent scoffed. "If you start worrying now, you'll be dead by the time exams come round." She pulled back the curtains of her four-poster and climbed into bed without another word.

Once Millicent could be heard snoring, which didn't take long, Pansy strode with obnoxious confidence over to Veronica's bed and sat down at the end of it, Indian-style. Veronica looked at her.

"What?"

"I'm not thick."

Something scary began writhing in Veronica's stomach.

"What do you mean? I know you're not--"

"I know what's wrong with you. You just don't want to admit it."

Veronica froze, held her breath, and waited. She had been found out. Pansy Parkinson had come over all observant. She knew Veronica was in love with the Potions Master, and it was only a matter of days before the entire school knew. Veronica thought she would explode with the stress of it when Pansy spoke.

"You believe Potter, don't you?"

Veronica's eyes flew open. "What?!"

"You're scared that You-Know-Who's strong again."

She couldn't help letting a sigh of enormous relief escape. Immediately sloding into the lie, she said,

"Ah…yes. I, uh, yes, terrified. Not that I _trust_ Potter, it's just that…the evidence…Cedric Diggory…"

"Veronica. You're being silly. Cedric Diggory's death wasn't all that unusual. Loads of people have died in Triwizard Tournaments, Dumbledore said so. One of the few things he's said that don't prove he's lost his marbles."

Veronica scoffed, feeling a pang of guilt along with it. Pansy continued.

"Besides, even if You-Know-Who were back--and he isn't--but if he were you'd have nothing to worry about."

Veronica's eyebrows drew together. Now genuinely interested, she proceeded cautiously.

"What do you mean? If the Dark…if You-Know-Who's back, Hogwarts will be the first place he'll come. To find Potter. Dumbledore can only protect us for so long."

"Well, yeah, but you're a Lestrange. My dad says your mum and dad are the most loyal Death Eaters. You-Know-Who comes here, he'll pass you up, if not try to recruit you. 'Course, we might lose the odd Mudblood, but…" Pansy waved her hand dismissively.

Veronica felt sick. She stared at her for a moment.

"Uh…thanks, Pansy…nice to have someone to talk to. But, er, I'm a little tired, so…"

"Say no more," Pansy said, lifting herself from the end of the bed, then she added, "You know, Lestrange, everyone hates you, but I think you might be okay."

Veronica didn't respond, just shut the hangings on her bed. That was just like Pansy, to have a totally friendly and even pleasant conversation with a person and then leave them feeling insulted and disturbed.

After hours of lying awake, Veronica finally drifted into a light sleep, filled with incoherent dreams in vivid color.

The first day was all her good subjects, but nonetheless a bit of fear shot through Veronica's heart when she received her schedule. Transfiguration, Divination, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It then occurred to her that their last DADA teacher had been sacked, and she didn't know who was teaching it now. Having not paid much attention to the speeches the night before, she didn't know if Dumbledore had introduced a new teacher.

Looking down the table for someone that wouldn't recoil if she spoke to them, she saw Pansy Parkinson.

"Pansy," she whispered, rushing over to her, "As you well know, I wasn't listening last night, so…who's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"

Pansy rolled her eyes and snickered.

"Some woman from the Ministry called Umbridge. She's inhumanly perky and wears a lot of pink."

"Alright, thanks." Veronica started to turn around then decided it would be in her best interest to keep up the lie she had started. "And thanks again for listening last night. I, uh, feel better now." Without waiting for a reply, Veronica started out of the Great Hall for a quick trip to the library before classes.

Neville Longbottom rounded a corner ahead of her, face to the floor, and they collided.

"Sorry, sorry," Neville stammered. When he looked up to see who he's run into, he met Veronica's gaze only for a second, and then ran swiftly back the direction he's come, abandoning a few rolls of parchment. Veronica figured it would be easier to just keep them than to try and give them back.


End file.
